A Rigorous Adventure
by sally manda
Summary: The 'Hornblower' crew are stranded on a tropical island. Horatio discovers his 'Nature Boy' side, and Archie recieves startling news of his own. (Not for the faint-hearted.)
1. Part One

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of the Hornblower series, nor do  
I own either Methos or the idea of Immortals, I believe they belong to their  
respective creators, producers and market people. Anyway, I hope that my very  
temporary usage of these characters is entertaining and not offensive in  
anyway. No doubt someone won't be happy, but I hope that you can channel your  
aggression into something creative and productive like macrame, belly dancing  
or possibly writing hit songs for Britney Speares. Although on second  
thoughts, don't do that because it might create even more public anger. To  
conclude, I hope no one feels the need to sue me over this, as I have neither  
money, fame, nor as it seems a life, so please pity me, instead of hating me.  
I only wanted to be loved! Actually, I also wanted to be an exceptionally  
great artist, a megolamaniac champion for World Domination Inc.(r)(tm) and a  
slack-jawed Scottish goat-farmer, but I'd settle for some good quality  
affection.  
  
I would like to thank Britt for her support (being the only one who knows what  
I'm talking about can be a heavy burden) as well as for her amazing technical  
know-how. Without you, I would write these stories and no one would hear them  
except for my long-suffering sister and my three guinea pigs. Thanks also goes  
out to my sister whose morbidity exceeds my own and supplied the title.  
  
If in the unlikely event that you actually want to use this story for  
something other than personal use, can you please ask me first by emailing me  
at troggie@hotmail.com with the title of the fic in the header.  
  
  
"A Rigorous Adventure"  
  
By Sally Manda  
  
Prologue:  
  
The thunderous roar of crashing waves engulfed the fragile senses of Horatio  
and his crew as the terrible storm raged on around his small jollyboat. Within  
the craft, the able-bodied seamen were struggling against two enemies: the  
churning, boiling sea that threatened to suck them down into the murky depths  
of its keep forever; and their own icy fear.  
  
Rain lashed at their faces, driven by the merciless wind which keened and  
howled like some demented banshee calling for the souls of the men that would  
no doubt be taken before this night was over. Horatio's stomach churned with  
the movement of the boat and with his own panic. He had little hope for either  
himself or for his crew. No number of cunningly devised plans or defensive  
moves could save them from the grasping clutches of this tempest. He realised  
that this was it - that within the night, be it within minutes or maybe hours,  
his bloated body would lie under the waves, resting with all the other lost  
souls who were the domain of the ocean. He steeled himself and squared his  
jaw. It would not do to show any of this fear to the men. Maybe if he  
swallowed the panic, he wouldn't be so terrified when his time came.  
  
Another monstrous wave grew, its crest rising high above the boat until it cut  
out all view of the sky. The bulging waterlogged clouds, the violent cracks of  
lightning that illuminated the scene -all was blocked out by the petrifying  
wall of water that had slowly begun to curl over, enveloping the pathetically  
small craft in a solid tunnel of crushing, heavy liquid.  
  
Horatio's breath caught in his throat as time seemed to slow down to an  
unbearable speed. Quietly, he reached over and took Archie's hand, before  
closing his eyes to calmly await their inevitable fate.  
  
~*~  
  
The gritty texture of warm sand filled Horatio's mouth, coating his tongue  
with an unbearable carpet that made him want to retch. While he waited for his  
brain to gather the strength to cope with incoming information, Hornblower  
concentrated on each of his senses at a time. He could taste the briny tang of  
sea water, and smell the salt in the air, as well as rotting seaweed. Below  
him, Horatio could feel ground: warm, soft and moist, supporting his bruised  
and battered body. Lying quietly, he managed to determine the shrill screeches  
of squabbling seabirds as well as the soft lap of water onto sand.  
  
Horatio's mind clicked into gear and he smiled inwardly. Of course, all these  
things made sense: he must be in the sick berth! *Wait a minute!* Horatio's  
brow furrowed as he tried to identify what was wrong with this conclusion.  
After a few confused minutes of internal debate, he decided to open his eyes  
and see where he really was. Satisfied that he had come up with the most  
courageous and decisive course of action, the intrepid maritime adventurer  
cracked open his leaden eyelids to the harsh morning sunlight.  
  
In actual fact, Horatio had been washed up like a slightly more dainty beached  
whale onto the fair shores of a seemingly deserted island. After some gallant  
exploring on behalf of Horatio Hornblower, some more of the crew was  
discovered. Styles, Matthews, Oldroyd and those faceless nameless members of  
the crew that we know exist, as well as, to Horatio's great relief, Archie  
Kennedy, were all safe and sound, if you didn't count a few cuts, bumps and  
bruises.  
  
After the crew had been rounded up, they ventured up under the cool shadows of  
some island trees to discuss their miraculous escape and to decide what they  
were going to do next. More to the point, for Horatio to decide what they were  
going to do.  
  
They had little supplies or tools ('little' meaning 'none') except for those  
that grew on the island. Seeing as island trees don't normally grow tools such  
as axes, saws or rivets, Horatio didn't see their chances at building another  
boat to be particularly high. It would be much better to stay put until they  
could be rescued by a passing ship. There was plenty of food to live on, a  
clean supply of fresh water, seemingly no other residents and the crew had had  
plenty of time to get used to one another over the past few years, so it  
didn't seem too bad for the moment. Hornblower just hoped that they hadn't  
been swept too far away from the usual hunting ground of English ships, and  
that the next ship to pass by wouldn't be French.  
  
In true Hornblower style, Horatio decided to blame himself for the way that  
the mission had gone pear-shaped, regardless of the fact that he wasn't some  
kind of rain god and couldn't actually control the weather patterns in his  
immediate vicinity. He hated letting men down, especially Pellew and  
consequently spent the next two days alternately hoping that he hadn't  
disadvantaged Pellew's attack too much as well as inwardly cursing himself for  
not having a better "bad weather strategy."  
  
~*~  
  
And so it happened that the days slowly meandered by, the world continued on  
its infallible course and the men became used to living on the island. It was  
really quite an idyllic spot. A golden oasis amongst the suffocating sands of  
structure and discipline that Whoreatio [[I mean Horatio]] had grown up  
surrounded by. And the days continued to flow by, and yet they could not be  
called months. For on this island, time was no longer a commodity - a force  
that needed to be carefully monitored and ordered, so that men might feel that  
they commanded it. No, in this haven, the days trickled by uncounted. On some  
nights, as the sun sunk slowly beneath the rippling current, leaving only its  
faint dying aura in the darkening sky, Horatio could almost sense the river of  
time - a continuous golden cord stretching into dark infinity, untouched by  
man's pitiable attempts to control it.  
  
Hornblower could feel himself changing [[into an evil monster of the night  
with gnashing vicious teeth, slashing claws and a whipping tail who fed on the  
blood of innocents...Sorry. That's not what happened.]]. He was becoming more  
relaxed; he felt more in touch with the world around him - this tactile, lush  
green abundance of organic matter. For the first time in his life, Horatio  
felt truly alive, truly free.  
  
Archie, however, did not share his friend's new-found exuberance for life. As  
Horatio became more involved in his search for the secrets of the natural  
world, Archie became more and more withdrawn. His dark musings were punctuated  
by an increasing number of fits and nightmares that threatened to engulf him  
with their intensity and fling him into the deep pit of despair that he felt  
lay directly before him. One small trip, a single rut, and he would be caught,  
and never again be able to escape from the irresistible pull of his  
melancholy. The black shadows of his soul sang siren songs nightly, calling  
him to take the plunge, and as the days wore on, Archie felt it becoming  
increasingly harder to resist.  
  
The strain of keeping his demons hidden began to show. Eventually, even  
Horatio noticed the heavy phantom that lay upon his friend's brow and wondered  
how it came to be. Encountering Kennedy as he stood morosely staring out to  
sea, Hornblower enquired about his mood.  
  
"I don't know, Horatio," Archie sighed, as he played with a broken twig. "It  
just seems so overwhelming. When I was on a ship, I guess I could block a lot  
of the pain out. I worked until I didn't have to think about it, then I would  
be so tired after working that I would just sleep. Blank, dreamless sleep.  
Now, I don't have anything to hide behind. It's like I've cut loose the ties  
that hold it all out and it's flooding back in. I...I've started having  
nightmares about Simpson again. I'll remember some small detail. Some small,  
insignificant detail, yet it will turn my world upside down and eat away at me  
for weeks. Horatio, I don't think I can hold out much longer." Archie turned  
his gaze towards his friend, and the honesty and despair in his imploring blue  
eyes struck deep into Horatio's heart.  
  
~*~  
  
It was around this time that Styles broke his leg. According to Styles, it had  
happened while hunting a particularly cunning wild pig, in the dark, near the  
crew's camp. While Styles would never change his story, many of the crew  
believed his injury had more to do with sneaking around after Matthews with  
the object of putting something unpleasant in his bed, after a particularly  
bitter fight over who should get to eat the last remaining pig's ear from  
dinner.  
  
However, the origins of the fracture in Styles left pin are not particularly  
relevant. What is relevant are the consequences of this seemingly  
insignificant accident. As several of the crew were also sick at the time, it  
was left to Horatio and Archie to go hunting for something to eat. Horatio -  
eager to show off his newfound nature boy skills - took the makeshift spear  
the crew had assembled with pride and merrily trotted off into the verdant  
vegetation. Archie followed behind him: less enthused, but also more cheerful  
than he had been in days. Styles and Matthews - having made up again - watched  
them go, paying special attention to Archie's countenance.  
  
"Looks like 'e may be out o' the woods," Styles remarked to his equally  
watchful friend.  
  
"I 'ope so," Matthews replied. "God knows 'e's 'ad a 'ard enough time."  
  
~*~ 


	2. Part Two

Part Two:  
  
~*~  
  
It was a few hours into Horatio and Archie's expedition that Horatio came to  
the realisation that his navigational skills weren't very good in dense  
vegetation, as they were completely lost. Sitting down on a nearby boulder,  
Horatio was about to launch into a self-obsessed brooding session over his  
apparent lack of good sense of direction, when the two men heard a rustling  
sound. This would not have been particularly surprising - as they were in a  
densely vegetated area - if it weren't for the fact that the 'something'  
making the noise was in fact a 'someone'. A 'someone' who appeared as startled  
at seeing Horatio and Archie as they were at seeing him.  
  
After a brief awkward silence and then an introduction, it emerged that the  
stranger's name was Adam Pierson and he lived a reclusive life on the island.  
He didn't mention how he got there, or how long the island had been his home.  
In fact, he appeared to get very vague whenever he was asked a question about  
himself or his life. He preferred to ask the two seamen the questions.  
Eventually, Pierson invited the two men back to his cave, as it was getting  
dark and it was nigh impossible to navigate throughout the forest during the  
night, even if you knew the way. The two men accepted, of course, but there  
was something about Adam that Horatio couldn't quite put his finger on.  
Something strange. Maybe it was the way that he kept on looking at Archie  
strangely, or the fact that he carried a sword. Even more worrying was the  
realisation that Adam hadn't actually told the two anything about himself. He  
had been so adept at evading any questions, that neither Archie nor Horatio  
really knew the first thing about the man other than the fact that he liked  
tea. Horatio resolved to figure the man out that night.  
  
It was during the dinner that night that a strange thing happened. Adam had  
been cutting up a piece of meat to cook for the two men when he had  
accidentally slipped and cut right down his arm. Horatio stood up to help him  
immediately and was surprised by the way in which Adam refused his help.  
  
"You need to have that bandaged right away!" Hornblower exclaimed, his eyes  
gleaming with worry. Adam, however, refused help once again, turning away from  
the two men and muttering about going outside to clean up the wound. That was  
too much for Horatio. He, Horatio Hornblower wasn't going to let this man end  
up with an infected wound. He grabbed at Pierson's other arm to stop him from  
going and suddenly noticed the lightning. Blue electricity surged up and down  
the open wound, knitting skin together, until the cut was completely healed.  
  
Hornblower looked up at Adam's face.  
  
"I think you owe us an explanation."  
  
~*~  
  
And so it was that Horatio learnt of Immortals: a race that can only truly die  
after decapitation. He learnt of the way in which Immortals came back to life  
after a 'temporary' death. He learnt of the Game, of the Buzz and of the  
Quickening. In fact, Horatio learnt a great deal that night. He was having a  
hard time believing it all, but seeing as he had no other way to explain  
Adam's ability to heal himself almost immediately, he decided that the  
Immortal explanation would have to do for the moment. Seized with a terrible  
doubt that maybe he wasn't being logical or rational enough, Horatio asked  
Archie for his opinion on the matter while Adam was out of the cave cleaning  
up. When Archie didn't answer right away, Horatio became a little worried.  
  
Archie had been particularly quiet that night. He had spent most of it sitting  
still and silently gazing into the distance. Horatio sighed. *Archie must be  
very tired*, it had been a long day after all. Upon Horatio's insistence,  
Archie finally did answer him. Kennedy conceded that it had been a  
particularly stressful day and that he was very tired. He also had a sore  
neck, which Horatio attributed to the painful-looking bruise he had managed to  
collect under his chin. Upon Horatio's bidding, he agreed to turn in for an  
early night's sleep.  
  
Not too much later, Adam returned to the cave. Archie had already moved over  
to the sleeping area and was slumbering like the dead. Horatio smiled  
paternally at the calm form. He looked so vulnerable when he was asleep, when  
the barriers he used to keep people at a distance during the day disappeared.  
Horatio mused over Archie's mood for that day. He had been a little  
melancholic during the morning, but had cheered up to a contented silence  
which had remained for the rest of the day.  
  
Adam joined Horatio at the eating area, and followed his gaze to the dormant  
Archie. Horatio noticed that Adam still looked at Archie strangely, and he  
decided that it was time to gain satisfaction for his piqued curiosity.  
  
"There's something I need to tell you about Archie Kennedy, Horatio," Pierson  
answered quietly. "It's to do with why I actually told you about Immortals. We  
don't tell everyone about us, or there would be constant trouble. But I  
thought you'd need to know about us, for Archie's sake, and for your one."  
  
~*~  
  
The glistening rays of the fresh morning sun trickled through the canopy of  
island trees to bathe Horatio in soft dappled light. He smiled in appreciation  
of the simple beauty that nature could provide. Leaning back, he looked over  
to Archie, who had been practising with a sword that morning and was now also  
sprawled out on the soft ground, propped up against a boulder. It had been  
about a week, from Horatio's calculations, he mused lazily, since they had  
left the crew's camp. Maybe they should go back. But Archie seemed so much  
happier here. Quieter, but happier. They had become much closer also, now that  
they had been forced to interact with each other on such an intimate basis.  
Horatio didn't know if he wanted to sacrifice all of this newfound  
companionship so quickly.  
  
Since finding out about Archie's impending immortality, through Adam Pierson,  
Horatio had felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.  
He couldn't quite explain it, but he almost felt that now, he wouldn't need to  
protect Archie as much. After all, he wasn't likely to be decapitated during  
battle. Furrowing his brow, Horatio noticed that the bruise was still present  
on Archie's neck.  
  
"That's a nasty bruise you have there, Archie. Maybe I should have another  
look at it?"  
  
Archie didn't answer. Horatio sighed. Archie had been lapsing into these  
trances more and more often over the last week. Maybe it had something to do  
with the discovery of his immortality.  
  
"Come on Archie! Show me some more of your swordwork! You told me how stiff  
your muscles were getting after practise," Horatio implored. Silence was his  
only answer. "Well then, maybe later." Horatio moved over to where Kennedy was  
sitting and put his arm around Archie's shoulders. "Cheer up Archie. I'm sure  
you'll be able to work everything out. After all, you've got forever!" Horatio  
then stretched his legs and settled down to enjoy the clear morning light in  
quite companionship with his friend.  
  
~*~  
  
Matthews, Oldroyd and the others stumbled across Horatio later that day. To  
Horatio's astonishment, they didn't appear to be so thrilled with the meeting  
as he was. Horatio couldn't understand it. Why were they whispering among  
themselves?  
  
"Sir, yer've obviously been under a lot o' stress. Why don't yer come over  
'ere and tell me what happened?" Matthews asked kindly.  
  
"What do you mean, 'under a lot of stress', Matthews?" Horatio enquired  
incensed. He wasn't that bad at survival skills that a week in the forest was  
a very stressful situation. "We had nuts, berries and fruits. I must admit  
that I do have a little craving for some roast meat, but I dare say I'll be  
able to hold out for a while." At this point, Oldroyd, for some unknown  
reason, fled from the scene dry retching. "Is everything alright with Oldroyd,  
Matthews?"  
  
Matthews sighed, quietly. "I think that's wha' we should be askin' you, Sir. I  
can understand 'ow it would 'ave got to yer, but this...well, it's sort of  
unnatural inn't?"  
  
Horatio frowned again. What where the crew talking about? He was perfectly  
fine!  
  
"I'm perfectly swimming, Matthews. Why do you keep asking me?"  
  
Matthews bit his lip before replying, "Mr 'Ornblower, Sir, Archie's not fine."  
  
"Oh don't be silly, Matthews. He's perfectly fine! It's because he's an  
Immortal. He can't die. Ever."  
  
Matthews forced himself to survey the scene for the second time. Horatio was  
propped against a heavy boulder, his left arm slung over the slightly greenish  
shoulder of the slowly decomposing stiff corpse of Archie Kennedy. He had  
obviously been dead for at least one week, his neck snapped by the heavy noose  
he had hung himself with, causing a florid purple bruise to flourish. His  
ghostly dead eyes stared blankly into the distance and his limbs were in a  
late stage of rigor mortis. Horatio sat humming nonchalantly to himself,  
seemingly oblivious to the rotting body of his best friend.  
  
Matthews shook his head sadly. Grief could do strange things to people. But  
why did Horatio have to be the one to crack?  
  
The End... 


End file.
